Quidditch Comes First
by RawMateriel
Summary: The Gryffindor team experience a haunting. Written for QLFC.


Written for Season 4 of the QLFC, Round 10.

Title: Quidditch Comes First

Team: Wigtown Wanderers

Position: Chaser 2

Position Prompt: Edgar Cloggs

Optional Prompt(s):

3\. (quote) "Real, or not real?" Peeta Mellark, Mockingjay

4\. (word) confined

13\. (word) eager

Word Count: 2,998 (on submission) - Updated: 3,650

Beta(s): CrazyRopeDragon, DolbyDigital, NeonDomino (Thank you!)

* * *

The badge was perfect, it was like nothing else on earth; the shine of it, the careful curve of the letter c. It was perfect, and they had sent it to _him_.

Oliver sat in his family home in Balloch, unable to see his parents sat just beyond the small trinket in his hand. The other papers the school had sent him were nearly shredded on the table. When he had lifted the envelope and felt that added weight, once he'd seen that wee bulge in the parchment, no booklist was going to give him pause.

"Dinnae cry, we thought you'd be pleased," Mrs. Wood said, amused.

"Leave him tae it hen, he's fit tae burst," Mr. Wood advised. She had never understood the true majesty of the game. He was going to be the Captain, and they were going to win.

"Och, look at him, he's upset," his Ma stressed, creasing up.

Oliver swiped at his eyes, refusing to allow his tears to blind him to a single detail of this achievement.

"Weesht besom. You're pleased aren't you laddie? Fourteen is fair wee tae be afforded the honour." Mr. Wood was clearly proud.

"I am o'course Da. 'Tes bonnie," Oliver said. Mrs. Wood, despite her teasing, reached across the table to hold his free hand. He felt like he was already holding the cup.

* * *

From the moment Wood's foot landed on the platform at Hogsmeade he was on a mission. The whole journey had been a blur. He needed to speak to his head of house. The ride in the carriage took whole minutes longer than necessary as the students dawdled on their way on and off.

They needed to set a date for try-outs, and discuss tactics, and he needed to thank her. He had to confirm whether or not she had convinced Madame Pince to order the eight copies of Quidditch Through the Ages he had requested for the library. The team would need the newest editions if they were going to be guaranteed the cup.

The walk to the Great Hall was as brisk as he could manage with so many other students filing into the castle. Eventually he pushed his way to the front of the throng and made headway alone.

He had already written McGonagall several letter, the first few were simply to make sure there had been no mistake and that the badge was really his.

He was the first student into the Hall. He marched toward the staff table at the top of the room.

"Professor, we need tae talk." Ten heads turned to face him, McGonagall was not among them. The benches behind him were filling up. Where was she?

"Wood!" Oliver turned to find the source of the voice. There she was! At a side entrance in her usual tartan.

"There you are Professor." He strode over. "I need tae talk to you about the protocol for booking the pitch. Three nights a week just isnae enough. Have you spoken to the Headmaster about my schematics for morning sessions?" He arrived at her side at last, finally able to make progress on the ultimate agenda.

"Wood, what we need tae do is our jobs, your job right now is tae go and sit down, understood?" McGonagall asked. Wood vaguely registered that her mouth was pressed into a hard line. He knew he was pushing it but this was Quidditch.

"But Professor…"

"Go and sit down." Quidditch comes first!

"You made me Captain." He smiled, and pointed to the badge on his chest.

"Godric give me strength. Yes I did, and I can see that you're eager, but right now—"

"—I want tae Thank you." She sighed.

"Yes, well, you're welcome. Now go and sit down. These students need to be sorted."

"What…" For the first time Oliver noticed the crowd of unsorted children staring at him from behind McGonagall. "Oh, I ken. How long will that take?"

"Wood!" Their eyes met.

Oliver got detention.

* * *

Oliver booked the pitch for try-outs before any of the other captains, of course, and it started off well.

He knew his beaters the moment they stepped on the pitch. Identical! Any captain worth his salt knew that the more similar the build of your beaters the better. When he saw them in the air it was settled. The Weasleys were in.

He had felt so elated. The sky was overcast, but the clouds were white. Perfect Quidditch weather. He had spent the whole day in the air, watching each student's performance like a hawk.

By the time the chasers had had their turn however, he was nervous. What if the players he needed just didn't exist? The chasers were fine but they couldn't compare to the twins. He watched Percy make a half-decent pass. He dreaded the possibility that Percy might end up on the team. Quidditch was one of his few escapes from that creature.

"Why so glum, boy?" Oliver nearly tumbled off his broom at the interruption. Looking around him he saw no one.

"Ach!" he cried, as the sensation of being soaked with ice-water slid over his skin. A young man with an old-fashioned moustache floated in front of him. It was just a poxy ghost. "Why would you do tha'?!"

"Bit clumsy of me. New captain are you?"

"Aye, and you are?"

"Edgar." The man's smile was dashing. He extended a transparent hand. Wood pretended to shake it, feeling the chill of the dead man's fingers. He eyed Edgar's ghost broom; he never knew such a thing was possible.

"Wood."

"Not looking too good for you and your team there, is it Wood?"

"I dinnae have a team yet, and I need you tae leave please. I've booked the pitch for Gryffindor house. Thank you."

"From the look of this lot you may not ever have a team. Still, you'll have to pick some of them." Wood tilted his head.

"Right, can I help you on your way out laddie?" he asked, there was no way he was jeopardising the element of surprise to humour a ghost.

"Oh, laddie, is it? I haven't been a laddie for a few hundred years," the ghost huffed. Wood turned back to the pitch and was immensely gratified to see Percy take a bludger to the shoulder, courtesy of his laughing brothers.

"Oi, you two lay-off. I need tae see 'em fly free," Oliver shouted, in his carefully cultivated captain-voice. Percy looked toward him gratefully, but Wood was already halfway through adding the sentence: "Great shot though!" His dorm mates face fell into a scowl. The twins cheered.

"That ginger might be your best option, although those two girls fly fine."

"You need tae go now, I cannae allow any non-Gryffindors on the pitch while the team is flying. Dead or alive; s'nae good for business."

"Ah, what team? I've been in the air longer than you've been alive boy, you best take my advice."

"You're alright."

"You're making a mistake. Arrogance does not become any leader worth his metal."

"It's nae that I doubt your expertise, but secrecy is integral tae success."

"So are friends. Sometimes your friends must outweigh even the game."

"Aye, but you can trust friends." Oliver pulled a wand from the fold of his Quidditch robes. He'd carried it as a precaution for rogue bludgers.

"I say, stow your wand."

"You're trespassing Edgar, I'll ask you again tae get t'fuck…please."

"You arrogant nave, I'll see you humbled!"

"Ach, spare me." Oliver directed his wand at the ghost, Edgar made no move. "Depulso." Quidditch comes first.

* * *

Edgar Cloggs was not a man —or ghost— to be trifled with. The Wood boy was arrogant. As the banishing spell did it's work and he spiralled beyond the horizon, Edgar thought of how he might humble him.

* * *

The day of their first match arrived only a month later in the first week of November. The team was coming on nicely and Oliver was confident. After vomiting up what little he'd eaten for breakfast, he set the team off with a rousing speech. Truthfully, all three of the chasers were hopeless. They could all fly well, but their passing was abysmal. Manfred, Mari, and Lolo; they had their moments.

Oliver stepped out of the changing rooms and moved to the centre of the pitch for kick-off with his team.

Fred and George would simply have to clobber the opposition, and then it was up to wee Africa Duffy to catch the snitch post-haste. That shouldn't be an issue for the bonnie flyer, it was her fourth season. He only wished he could keep the seventh year on for the following year after, but unfortunately when he had asked her to throw her NEWTs in May and stay on, she had refused.

He watched the opposition approach in yellow and black. Wood had been pleased to discover that the Hufflepuff captain, Heather Bluff, had developed a crush on the walking hazard Nymphadora Tonks and had asked her to join their team.

It was a mystery why the Metamorphmagus hadn't refused. She almost sustained an injury swinging her leg over her broom. No! It couldn't be. Oliver almost laughed when he saw her pulling on a helmet. She was their Keeper. Oh, sweet victory.

Madame Hooch stepped forward and asked the captains to shake hands. It was tradition at this point to take a shot at the other team. Wood let the small, softly spoken girl go first.

"Your Chasers look… uhm, new?" she said. Her tone was friendly. She clearly did not understand the purpose of this portion. Honestly, neither did Oliver.

"Aye, good luck," he said. He'd save his animosity for Flint. With a jolt Oliver recognised a ghost just behind her. Bluff pulled her hand back and nodded.

"You too," she said. Her soft voice was almost drowned out by Lee Jordan's voice as he took the commentators stand and introduced the teams.

Oliver was preoccupied. Not a ghost with a vendetta, not now! Not today!

In less than a minute they had kicked off, and Oliver had no choice but to head for the goalposts and focus only on the quaffle.

"Graham Quaker for Hufflepuff has claimed initial possession of the quaffle," Lee announced, "Lolo West for Gryffindor seems to be struggling to co-ordinate with her fellow chasers as she makes a solitary pursuit. Yes! I mean, oh dear, the Gryffindor beaters seem to have landed a serious hit on poor Graham." There was a great cheer from the Gryffindor stand behind Wood.

"Oh, but Hufflepuff are still in possession as the Gryffindor chasers fail to reach the quaffle in time. Hufflepuff captain Heather Bluff herself has caught the quaffle mid-drop. There she goes towards the Gryffindor goalposts in a streak of yellow. Come on Weasleys, she's not even lookin' your way, just find a bludger and whack… sorry Professor." Oliver could tell by Heather's posture that she was headed for the left hoop from a mile away. He waited until the last moment to make his move.

"Oliver Wood, Gryffindor keeper and captain, seems braced to make that last minute dash. Here's Bluff with the quaffle. Eye on the ball, Wood! Wait, what's he playin' at?" Wood had spotted Edgar again. He watched, transfixed, as Edgar made a beeline for Manfred at the opposite goal post.

"Bluff takes her shot!" Oliver instinctively flew for the left hoop, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Manfred. "Wood has made his move and he's… yes he's still not actually watching what he's doing."

Oliver had never seen a ghost move something solid before, although he knew it was possible. For a heartbeat Edgar seemed more opaque, like Peeves, and in that moment he rammed straight into Manfred's side.

"What's so interesting about.. bloody hell, Manfred Mann, Gryffindor chaser, is going down at the Slytherin stand. Oh, oh, and Wood has, uhm, blocked the quaffle!"

Heather's quaffle smacked Wood in the face. He was pleased at the save, but then his vision became spotty.

* * *

There wasn't a single moment to waste on confusion when Oliver woke up in the hospital wing surrounded by the yammering of his teammates, he had ended up there a dozen times or more. That's what happens when a keeper doesn't wear a helmet, but he refused to wear anything that might be detrimental to his peripheral vision. Merlin his head hurt. Still, Quidditch first.

"Did we win?" he asked, his tongue heavy.

"He's waking up, so precious," a twin said.

"Nah, he's just dreaming," the other replied. Oliver cracked an eye.

"He'd want to be dreaming to consider us capable of losing to Hufflepuff," Duffy said, running her fingers through her buzz cut.

"Manfred?" Wood slurred.

"Aaw, he's asking after me. That's nice."

"If you hadn't fallen, he wouldn't have taken that quaffle to the face," Lolo grumbled. Oliver was squinting at them now, his chin sunken into his neck on account of a pile of pillows.

"I already told you! The wind was overpowering," Manfred complained. The twins snorted.

"It wasn't, it was Edgar," Wood said, he tried to sit up but Duffy pushed him back down.

"Edgar?" Manfred asked.

"'e's a ghost, ghost wi'a brum."

"Manfred, you've ruined him," a twin complained.

"With your overpowering wind," the other chastised. Wood gave up on the ghost for a moment to move onto more important things.

"We did win?" he asked again.

"Of course we won," Lolo said, "their seeker was no match for Duffy."

* * *

Edgar watched the boy being carefully carried off in a stretcher. He was sure that would be enough, once the boy lost the cup he would see the error of his ways. As he watched the Hufflepuff chasers make their way toward the goalposts in a neat unit, ready to begin an onslaught of goals, the eager, young commentator became unbearably shrill.

"Africa Duffy has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!"

Oh no..

* * *

Oliver sat in Professor McGonagall's office, nibbling morosely on some shortbread.

"Professor, I'm tellin' you, there was a rogue ghost on the pitch!"

"I understand your concern, but a ghost who tampers with school competitions at Hogwarts is unheard of. It couldnae 'ave gone unnoticed."

"I noticed, and I'd a quaffle shot straight for my heid."

"I'm sorry Wood, but I dinnae know what you'd ha' me do. Mr. Mann himself said that it was a gust o' wind." Oliver took another piece of shortbread.

"He's after the team, mark my words."

Their next match wasn't until after Christmas. Wood spent the majority of December confined to his room taking potions for his head injury to 'prevent future hallucinations'.

* * *

By mid-March Oliver's team were unrecognisable in the air. He'd had enough time to get them ready to face Ravenclaw.

Wood still struggled to feel the elation of his first win as captain. He couldn't think of a way to be sure that Edgar wouldn't still be an issue.

At least the chasers were improving: Mari had become almost graceful, and Lolo finally understood what a play-formation was for.

The team were sitting at breakfast. Oliver couldn't even think about food as he supervised each player eating the three boiled eggs he had assigned them. His seeker was scowling.

"Say, hypothetically, this ghost was real. Why would he be after us?" Africa asked. Her black head freshly shaved and shining.

"Duffy, I need you tae take me at my word on this, that ghost is real and he's trying tae sabotage my —our— chance at the cup."

"The cup? You think the ghost wants the cup?"

"Nae, he just disnnae want me —us— tae have it."

"And he told you this?"

"He's doing this 'cause he knows I want it."

"You do know that you sound completely mental don't you?" George asked.

"In a very charismatic way mind you," Fred added.

"Yeah, 'course, exactly the sort of charmingly eager person we'd like to lead us in a round of high-contact sport," George surmised.

"In the sky."

"Shut it you two, you'll make him worse," Duffy snapped. She pushed away her plate of boiled eggs, and Oliver pushed it back to her.

"Finish them."

* * *

Oliver made sure not to mention Edgar in his speech; he knew he had already shaken the team enough, and he wouldn't let that ghost ruin their confidence in him.

When the match began he hoped that the team would at least take his warnings into account if Edgar appeared.

"Mari Gold, Gryffindor's golden girl, makes her fourth goal of the game. That puts Gryffindor a hundred points up! A lead which will be necessary to win the cup. It's a pity that Slytherin managed to score two hundred and eighty points against Hufflepuff before the snitch was caught, or it might seem that way if I wasn't impartial. Gryffindor still have a long way to go."

Oliver was immensely pleased with his team's performance, but ever since Slytherin's win it occurred to him that it might already be too late for the cup. No, he couldn't think that way.

Slytherin should've had their win against Hufflepuff omitted anyway, they'd put practically the whole team in the hospital wing. Every one of them other than Tonks who had hospitalised herself when she flew into a goal post in the first ten minutes for no discernible reason.

"The chasers on both sides are playing a blinder. But it's clear that Gryffindor's seeker, Africa Duffy, is growing tired of gaining an appropriately obscene lead. She's had to pass up the snitch twice already, and oh, yes. She's spotted it again. Will she even bother? It seems she must as the Ravenclaw seeker, Magritte Pisa, is hot on her heels."

Oliver listened carefully but kept his eye on the quaffle. They couldn't afford any slip-ups against Ravenclaw. A golden glimmer flickered at the edge of his vision and he knew the snitch was just behind him.

The seekers raced toward him. Manfred and Lolo had taken the quaffle far off to the other end of the pitch. He allowed himself the luxury of a brief glance toward the snitch.

It was just behind him. Both girls were reaching. Duffy was headed straight for him, probably confident he would move to block the other girl in time. He would, of course, be ready.

Pisa had the better broom but Duffy was smaller. It occurred to Wood that Africa had shaved her head to make herself more aerodynamic and he felt a rush of affection for the girl. It was then, just as he was prepared to move out of her way, that Edgar appeared and grabbed the base of Duffy's broom. Wood's stomach dropped; it was over.

But with sharp, precise movements, Duffy glanced behind her and spotted Edgar. Without hesitating, she whipped around to face forward and kicked away from her broom. She left it behind.

She propelled herself toward Oliver, put a hand on Magritte's shoulder to increase her momentum, and jumped again. Her foot sprang off of Wood's thigh. She shot forward into thin air, her fingers wrapped around the snitch, and she fell.

* * *

When Oliver arrived on the pitch in the Summer sun for the final match of his first year as captain he inhaled the smell of wood varnish and dry air. The crowd roared above, the Gryffindor more enthusiastic than he had ever seen them, even though they knew it was probably a lost cause.

His team stood around him. Africa had refused to allow Oliver to hold tryouts for a replacement seeker, but Wood knew that was only because she knew finding one would be impossible.

She hadn't completely recovered. They had beaten Ravenclaw, but only by two hundred and fifty points. That put Slytherin a hundred and seventy points in the lead before kick-off. That was only three goals, and the snitch, and Gryffindor would have the cup. But then there was the matter of Edgar.

Wood had thought back to their conversation, and the criticisms of arrogance from the ghost.

Africa had already been attacked once. The Headmaster had promised a rematch in the event of any more casualties caused by the ghost, which should've been enough assurance for Wood, but he found real concern for the girl brewing.

"On your marks players, prepare for kick-off!" Madame Hooch said.

A sensation akin to having a ball of lead replace your heart overtook Oliver. Oh bollocks.

"Och, Madame Hooch I need tae retract my seeker," he said. Duffy turned to him, he expected her to look mutinous but she just looked surprised.

"Do you understand that the game must go ahead as planned, and that your team will be without a seeker?"

"Better nae seeker, than nae Duffy," he replied, sounding unsure. The Gryffindor stand had grown deceptively quiet. Africa stepped forward, and frowned at Oliver. She waved a hand in front of his face. She stretched out her arm and Fred Weasley kindly reached over and pinched it. She flinched.

"You can't let that ghost terrorise you into giving up your chance at the cup," Duffy said.

"After that fall, I could nae allow you tae do it hen. Not again."

"We can't win without her," Mari interjected. "unless you plan to score three hundred and fifty points, with no seeker, and not allow Slytherin to score a single goal."

Edgar floated on his broom at the edge of the Teachers stand. Oliver wasn't sure how he'd come to spot him while the others hadn't, but it strengthened his resolve.

"Sounds like a plan alright," Fred said.

"Go and get the champion banner hung Duffy," George added, "it's going to take at least that much fabric to deal with Wood's tears."

A few times during the match Oliver thought George might be right, but in the end no Gryffindor was seriously injured. Edgar had not come back to haunt them, he took solace in that fact, and tried to swallow the thorough defeat they had suffered at the hand's of the Slytherins. Afterall, his team came first.


End file.
